Periphery
by Msynergy
Summary: Hotch, she'd noticed over the years, had a penchant for lurking.
1. Part 1

_Periphery_

Disclaimer: I wish, but no, don't own the characters/show.

Author's Note: Whelp, here it is, an actual two-parter story! My apologies up front if you are or have ever been a medical professional and my representation isn't up to snuff. Basically flying by the seat of my pants on this one. Hopefully a suspension of disbelief can be achieved and everyone can enjoy. Happy reading!

Hotch, she'd noticed over the years, had a penchant for lurking.

Not quite in one's personal space but always well in one's periphery, usually with arms crossed or eyebrows knitted or both.

She wonders if he's even aware of it now, so used to just being there, almost omnipresent in his alpha male status, as if his mere presence would make others think twice about messing with his pack. She also wonders how many times it actually has worked.

He's taken so much flak for them, because of them, and he continues to do so tonight, on the phone explaining to someone higher up on the food chain why she'd practically eviscerated their UNSUB instead of arresting him.

After almost having her arm taken off with a machete it seemed like the logical thing to do was to protect herself with whatever was available, which at the time had been a handsaw in that little homemade chamber of horrors, her gun lost in the initial ambush. But there would be questions; always questions, and she had to admire how smoothly Hotch seemed to be handling those inquiries while sending a glance every now and then her way to check on the state of her injury. The Kevlar he still wore no doubt stopping any insistence on the hospital staff's part that he not use his phone.

Luckily for her it had been a glancing blow, though still deep enough to require stitches, and if properly looked after the scar would be barely noticeable, her too chirpy nurse informed her as she wrapped the wound. Emily had half a mind to lift up her shirt and ask if this is what she meant by scars. Which wasn't fair, really, she was just tired and hurt and really, really hated hospitals.

"There, all done! I'll go let your boyfriend know he can see you now."

Wait…what?

"Sorry? Boyfriend?"

"The gentleman waiting over there?"

She was sure her shock would have been more profound if the painkillers she'd been given for the stitches weren't in full effect, but at that point she could only stare dumbly.

"He's my boss."

"Sure, honey, because everyone's boss would ride in the ambulance with them and watch them like hawks through medical procedures."

"He'd do that for anybody on our team. We're as much a family as a unit."

"Right. Well, I'll let him know you're ready to go either way. Dr. Jackson would prefer it if you stayed overnight to make sure that nothing awful was festering on that blade, but we've run all the tests we can run as well as given you an extra strength antibiotic."

"Part of our UNSUB's profile was that he was a neat freak, he would have disinfected his torture tools after each use. Judging by the way everything was arranged in that cellar I'd say that part of the profile was accurate."

Chirpy nurse couldn't have left her fast enough, only stopping to say a few words to Hotch before scurrying down the hall.

The bemused expression on his face as he entered her examination room said it all.

"I scared her that well, huh?" she couldn't help but smile, but Hotch only shook his head.

"I think you put Reid to shame with that one, Prentiss."

"Damn, I'm good. Well, let's get out of here!"

She eagerly rose to her feet, not expecting the rush of dizziness that overtook her. So maybe that adrenaline she was running off of had finally run out after all. But rather than fall to the hard floor, she felt larger, strong hands fasten around her waist, virtually holding her upright.

"You alright?"

Hotch was not a touchy-feeling kind of guy. In fact she was sure under the word "tactile" in the dictionary it said "Not Hotch." But there he was, well in her personal space now, his arms tight around her, lips a thin line and concern in his eyes. She tried her best not to think about what that look did to her insides, much less the feel of him against her as she quickly found her footing. He needed to go back to the periphery, and she needed to regain her bubble, fast.

And yet, there she remained in his arms long after she'd recovered.

"Um, Hotch?"

"Right, sorry. Just wanted to be sure you wouldn't fall again."

"Right."

And just like that, he was gone.

Personal bubble reestablished, back straight and eyes forward, she made her way out to the reception area and the waiting team.

Everyone knew what her injury was, but her welcome into the fold was downright tear jerking.

She received hugs from JJ, Reid, and Morgan, a warm shoulder grab from Rossi, and Reid was stuck to her like glue on the trip home. Garcia had been equally clingy when they'd finally gotten back to the office. Not that their actions didn't make sense, this was the first hospital visit she'd had to make since her return, the bad memories associated with her and hospitals were sure to be stirred up.

And it was with this thought in mind that she tried to make sense of Hotch's behavior as she sat on her couch in the dark that night, Sergio blissfully unaware, asleep, and purring on her lap.

He'd continued to be in the periphery after the hospital. In the seat in the corner of her eye, above the seat she'd sat in next to Reid, never quite near, but there all the same. Like always. But how he'd held her before, that was up close and personal. He'd ever acted that way towards her until today, so was it recent circumstances or something else? Or was she reading too much into nothing? Was it just a simple instinctual reaction to keep her from falling? But then why had he lingered?

Her head and her arm hurt, but the wheels kept turning, and she sighed in frustration just as a knock came from her door.

Old habits from months of hiding have her on alert instantly, and she makes sure her gun is in easy reach as she checks the peephole, only to find the very object of her frustration right outside.

"Oh fu-."


	2. Part 2

Disclaimer: I wish, but no, don't own the characters/show.

A more persistent knock covers the rest of her cursing, and one look at his deepening frown has her opening the door before he can consider kicking it down or call for back-up.

"Hotch? What are you doing here?"

"Check-up. Your doctor asked me to look in on you, make sure infection wasn't setting in."

"Honestly, I'm fine, just tired and-"

"Emily."

It's only her name, but on his lips it's downright deadly, and his most definitely not Periphery-Hotch tonight.

"Fine," she sighs, trying to look like she's still fighting him as butterflies do the conga in her stomach.

Allowing him inside she closes the door and quickly makes for the couch, ready to get this over with when a thought occurs to her.

"Where's Jack?"

"Still at Jessica's, we got back late so I decided to pick him up in the morning," he answers quickly, moving to sit down beside her on the couch.

She offers up her arm without fight, her last trump card dealt. Jack was priority, but obviously Hotch was two steps ahead of her.

Damn him.

He's gentle, downright tender while removing the bandages, and while she appreciates the gesture having to focus on the task at hand and not how his fingers feel on the skin he's exposed makes her want to bite her nails. A lot.

The stitches are small and precise, good work, and the skin only a little red to indicate irritation, but no swelling or puss which meant Hotch's task was accomplished.

"Thanks Hotch, I'll just see you to the door and-"

"No."

"No?"

"I need to rewrap it. Where's your first aid kit?"

She makes a wave towards her bathroom, too shocked at his persistence to argue. Just what was going through that head of his?

He's back in a flash and she narrows her eyes at him as he sits back down. Quickly unrolling bandages and finding gauze.

"Who are you and what have you done with Hotch?" she finally asks as he starts to wrap her arm, his fingers still and there's a hint of a smile on his lips as he raises one eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"I've just never known Aaron Hotchner to make house-calls, that's all."

"Really? I do it for Morgan all the time, even kiss his boo-boos to make him feel better."

"Ew, just ew! Yep, it's official, you're a pod person."

He laughs, actually laughs, and she feels a spike of pride for making him do that. Periphery-Hotch might be off duty just for tonight, but she must say she's enjoying Up-Close-and-Personal-Hotch while she has him.

"Would you like one?"

"Like one of what?"

"A kiss."

She nearly swallows her tongue.

"What?"

"A kiss to make you feel better."

Her tongue is safe, but now her heart is trying to crawl its way up her throat. She's not sure which is worse.

"Um, sure."

She answers before she can over think it, and as his eyes widen a little she realizes she's called his bluff. He never actually thought she'd say yes.

"Look, I didn't mean-"

But before she can finish, give him an out, his lips are pressed just next to her stitches and she forgets what words mean, much less that they make speech when put together.

It's as tender as his other ministrations have been, as warm and supporting as his arms around her at the hospital had been, and if she ever hears a junior agent mutter about "Hard-Ass Hotchner" from now on she will personally kick their asses, not just chew them out verbally like before.

The kiss ends just as quickly as it began, but she has to smile at the blush that dusts his face and his inability to look her in the eye.

He finishes dressing her wound in silence, but it's comfortable, only a hint of awkwardness still clinging to the air as she leads him to the door once he's finished. They stand together at the threshold, but what that threshold is besides it being her door she doesn't examine too closely.

"Thanks for checking on me, and for, everything else," she says and he nods back.

"You're welcome. Good night, Prentiss."

And just like that Periphery-Hotch is back, and it saddens her a little.

"Hey, Hotch?"

"Yeah?"

With her good hand she reaches up and grabs his lapel, bringing him down just enough for her to press a kiss to his cheek before retreating.

What she would give for a camera just then.

"For any boo-boos you might have," she smiles, as if connecting the word boo-boos with her boss is an everyday occurrence.

What she doesn't realize is that her hand is still holding his lapel, and only when his hand covers it does she realize her error.

He's smiling, and she suddenly realizes why he doesn't make a habit of it. That smile would be made illegal in every state the BAU ever visited for disturbing the peace. No UNSUB would ever be caught again because the team would constantly be wrangling wanton women and men.

Easily removing her now limp hand with his larger one, he holds it for a moment before saying, "I feel better already."

And then, God help her, he actually winked, and was gone, walking purposefully down the hall towards the elevators.

She'd been tired before, but now it'd be a wonder if she ever slept again.


End file.
